


Idiot Brigade

by businessendofamorningstar



Series: Don't Starve (Failed Step One) [1]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Some Crack, Some sadness, it's a drabble series lmao, nothing terribly nsfw except occasional violence, willow and wilson are siblings in this btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 00:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12716514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/businessendofamorningstar/pseuds/businessendofamorningstar
Summary: Willow is a nightmare to live with.





	Idiot Brigade

**Author's Note:**

> My friends and I are playing DST long term, trying to get everything we can possibly get in game, and we're playing Wendy, Wilson, Willow, Wolfgang and Maxwell.
> 
> Sometimes our antics are in character (and sometimes they're not) but I'll be writing them as in character as possible and posting them up there! Some crack posts (especially dumbass death or ghost-related antics) will be labelled as such. It's just for fun, continuity isn't going to be exact.
> 
> Anyway I have never in my life wanted to strangle my friend within an inch of her life.

They had run when the walking tree started tearing its way through camp. Wendy, for what it was worth, had made a decent map of the lower section of the island, south of their camp and carefully placed herself between a thick gathering of trees as she heard the steady thump, thump, thump of the tree walking it’s way south west. Once she was sure it was safe to head back (it was getting dark anyway, better the devil you know, right?), she started back up the path to camp, seeing a bright light in the distance.

Willow must have restarted the campfire in expectation of the impending darkness. But no, it was much worse than that. Wolfgang was standing, awe-faced at the blazing wooden fence that surrounded their camp. They had no water, and Willow was standing to the northern end of camp, something between shock and glee in her flame filled face.  
From the North West she could see Wilson come running, skidding to a halt on the other side of Willow. The campfire, for what it was worth, was still burning, almost nothing but dull embers in comparison to the raging inferno they now faced. The trees on the edge of camp that they had carefully planted were slowly catching, embers dancing up their leaves like they were searching – desperately, it seemed – for the heart, to take the tree from its core.

Wendy took a few more careful steps forward; the sound of Wilson screaming hitting nearly deaf ears as his science machine took. Next, slowly, the map Wendy had been working on. Wolfgang was the first to react, desperately shoveling handfuls of dirt to the flames licking up their last line of defense. He began crying out for help, and Wendy felt her body moving, but it was not her controlling it.

Closer now, the fire burned bright and hot, and Wendy could barely stand the proximity. She began helping Wolfgang, but the fruitless endeavor filled her with a deep sense of dread. Her blood ran cold as she tossed her shovel to Wolfgang, kept digging at the hard earth with her hands. She could feel blood on her fingertips from scraping at the clay for purchase. Wilson was still shouting.

Willow had not moved.

They spent their night like this, trying to stop the inferno. The irony of their safety being secured for the night while the likelihood of them surviving for much longer was dwindling with each pile of ash and charcoal that glowed a dull read fell around them was not lost on Wendy.

Nearly a week of gathering resources, her and Wolfgang, and another of carefully threading grass to rope and splitting twigs and logs to make a sustainable wooden fence. Nearly a week of hard work, lost in a night.

They spent the last few minutes of darkness sitting in utter silence, Wilson carefully gathering what supplies remained – his sleeves were singed and his hands visibly had burns. Had he run to try and save his scientific endeavors? Had Willow tried to stop him? Had she even cared to try and stop him?

Wendy could feel something unfamiliar crawling up her spine, settling deep in her chest; an unfamiliar rumbling of cold anger, slowly sparking into a fire of its own, burning within her thin, hunger-wracked torso until her hands began to tremble, and her mind began to cloud. Willow sat across from her, dark eyes focused on the fire in front of her. Wolfgang glanced back to Wendy as she stood and quickly scooted from her. Wilson turned from his papers and the charred remains of food, reaching towards Wendy as she began moving around the fire pit.

Willow stood and, true to her name, all but towered over Wendy (still thin, mind you, but that wasn’t unexpected). Her dark eyes were burning somewhere deep in the sockets, the beginning of a grin starting on her face.

Wilson grabbed Wendy’s arm, and she briefly glanced in his direction. She barely came up to either of their chin’s – Wilson just slightly shorter than Willow – but both of them, with their charred clothes and dark hair and burning eyes (Willow’s with dull rage and excitement, Wilson’s with sadness and curiosity), Wendy knew she was outmatched. She didn’t know the full story behind them, but she knew that more often than not, they moved in tandem, thought similarly, and had the same penchant for unpredictable violence.

“Wolfgang, will you help me gather wood?” was what Wendy said instead, ripping her arm from Wilson’s surprisingly strong grasp, feeling the sting of a bruise forming near her elbow. Unfortunate.

“Of course,” came the timid reply from Wolfgang, who carefully kicked ashes back into the dirt, not watching as they seemed to be swallowed by the ground, or as the dirt solidified around it. As the pair headed off to the south west, where some undamaged trees still lay, Wendy could faintly hear the sounds of Willow laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't think of an in-canon writing of Wilson and Maxwell being on the same plane of existence without the entire series being Wilson trying to kick Maxwell's ass morning, noon, and night so. Sorry Clyde.


End file.
